


Life of Loneliness

by paynesgrey



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Divergent, Future Fic, Gen, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-28
Updated: 2009-12-28
Packaged: 2020-09-29 04:40:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20429183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paynesgrey/pseuds/paynesgrey
Summary: The old wizard Merlin remembers why he feels so alone.





	Life of Loneliness

**Author's Note:**

> Season 2, future!fic. Written for my A-Z meme for [](http://forthrightly.livejournal.com/profile)[forthrightly](http://forthrightly.livejournal.com/) who requested "Between" and Merlin (general). Some of the plot derives from general knowledge of Arthurian legends.

He sat on a wooden bench, stroked his long white beard, and when the local children left at the end of his stories, Merlin wondered how he ended up so alone. He’d always accepted his solitary nature; it’d given him time to observe, to experiment and to learn about the world.

But it hadn’t always been like this. Merlin remembered when he had friends, when people cared for him more than for his magic.

He smiled lightly to himself and rested his palm on his gnarly cane, and he watched the hustle and bustle of the village. Children rushed past him in a cacophony of laughter and merriment. Merlin felt a rising nostalgia, and sometimes he wished could feel the way he did when he was young.

_It has been so long_, he thought to himself.

He recalled the faces of the people he loved, between the haze of his ancient memories and sobriety of tempered regret. Merlin frowned slightly when shame trickled to the surface, but as always, he brushed it aside as his eyes became weepy for a moment.

First, he thought of his mother. She lived a long life, and he had helped her along with that. Yes, she had fallen to danger many times because of him, but in his power, he was able to protect her, and when the past came back to him, she was always the first he thought about.

Then, he thought of Gaius, a wise, kind-hearted man whom he saw as a father. Merlin admitted to himself that he modeled his own life much like Gaius’s, and despite this, he could still hear his voice admonishing Merlin in the back of his brain when he was about to do something stupid. He was grateful the old man was still able to keep him under watchful eye, even if he was long gone from this world.

Morgana was the next to surface from his thoughts, and he wondered why, considering Freya ended up being dearer to him. In the end, Merlin was at peace with Freya as much as she was with him. Yet, Merlin still regretted his many betrayals against Morgana, a woman he still considered a dear friend even after she disappeared into Avalon. He only wished they could have been closer, and Merlin yearned to know what other futures might have spilled out before him if he had confided in Morgana, and helped her before Morgause found her.

Sometimes he’d rather not think of Gwen and Lancelot. Merlin only remembered the messy affair between the two, as well as the slow burn into their relationship. He knew that by herself, Guinevere was kind, strong and more hopeful than Merlin had been himself. Yet, the old wizard could not bring himself to ever separate Lancelot and Gwen in his memories. The two, no matter of their individual hearts and minds, always came together.

Merlin was grateful, however, that Uther Pendragon was the most distant memory of them all. If anything, remembering the tyrant only left foulness in his mouth, and Merlin wished he could erase those few number of years where he had feigned loyalty to the wretched King.

For all the bad that Uther was, Merlin was grateful for the son that came of him. _Arthur._ Just to say his name caused Merlin to smile. He remembered everything about him, and if Merlin had any detailed memories left, they always included Arthur, the way his young face transformed into wise maturity. His eyes, however, silver blue and filled with compassion, had never changed throughout his life.

Merlin chuckled to himself. Not only that, he thought, but he remembered vividly how the spoiled, bratty prince turned into the greatest King Albion had ever known.

_Hard to believe_, the old wizard mused, _that such an arrogant prat could do so much good to a kingdom so broken from his father’s rule._ In the first two years of Arthur’s reign, Camelot had shown an amazing improvement beyond any of Merlin’s expectations.

Of course, Merlin knew that not all journeys are without their pitfalls. When Merlin revealed himself to Arthur, the new King scorned him for his magic and lies, and Merlin felt his first taste of true loneliness for several years. It wasn’t until Arthur found himself in need of Merlin’s help did the king finally start to accept the young warlock, and even then Merlin had to repair a weak bond of trust between them. Merlin always thought Arthur continued to be skeptical of Merlin’s magic, and he only needed it as a last resort. Luckily, though, the two men eventually repaired their fractured friendship.

_The rest of it is history_, Merlin thought sadly. His relationship with Arthur was as the Great Dragon had foreseen. They had become a strong, significant alliance. Arthur’s treatment of Morgana – for all Morgause had inspired her to do – did not garner the same tolerance. Arthur’s rejection of her and eventual acceptance of Merlin had become the pinnacle point that spurred his continued years of loneliness. Merlin had come to depend on Arthur’s friendship so much, he had unwillingly alienated others. First he hurt Morgana, then Gwen and later he even pushed away Lancelot. He didn’t mean to, and he always thought he was a fair-minded man, but when it came to Arthur, nothing could influence his mind otherwise.

He shook his head and looked sadly at his feet. _Just another regret_, he thought. He still hated himself for it – for being so blinded in protecting Arthur for the interest if Camelot – that he forgot about his other friends. Maybe he did not support them enough. Arthur had gained all of his attentions, and perhaps Merlin was too quick to judge, thinking himself wise because of his magic. Even Gaius, in his last days, seemed to think Merlin was wiser than he was, as long as he protected Arthur so that Camelot was safe.

It did not matter if hearts were broken. Lancelot and Gwen left Camelot alive. Whether or not they survived beyond that, Merlin did not have the heart to care at the time. It was Arthur that stuck in his mind. Merlin justified that mending Arthur’s heart would keep Camelot from falling. He did not foresee Morgana and Mordred. He betrayed them both once too, and he chose Arthur’s side.

Sometimes he thought, he was the reason Morgana loathed Arthur. Letting Mordred escape as a boy still gave him nightmares. He had the chance, and he knew – he always knew the Great Dragon had not lied. He could have stopped Mordred long before his blade had struck Arthur through the chest.

Merlin dipped his head in his hands, and he felt the wetness on the fingers. He let himself weep, for he could not refuse reality now. He was too old and tired for denial. The regret had finally overcome him, and he could not hide the fact any longer that he had created his life of loneliness all on his own.

He had driven away all his friends, and yet even now, he didn’t think he would change a thing if he had a chance to turn back time.

_Maybe I will go back_, he said to himself, feeling a pang of bittersweet hope. He had the capability to do so. He just didn’t have the nerve, no matter how badly he missed them.

No matter how much he wanted to see Arthur again.

Merlin wiped away his tears and sighed deeply, and he closed his eyes as he regained his composure. He blinked and his vision refocused on the center of the village square. He stood up and was about to carry the bench back to his hut in the forest when something stopped him from taking another step. He felt a tug at his side on his long robes, and he peered down at a child looking up at him with sad eyes.

“Master Merlin, are you done with your stories for the day?” The young boy looked disappointed, and Merlin noticed he was short of breath. Did he rush all the way here?

“I am sorry, young man, but I am finished for the day. I will be back tomorrow if you would like to return,” Merlin said smiling, trying to let the boy down as gently as he could. However, the young boy appeared crestfallen. His eyes fell to the dirt and he pouted.

“Aw, I knew I wouldn’t get here in time,” he said dejectedly. “I’ll be working all day in the fields tomorrow too, so I probably won’t make it.”

Merlin scrutinized him, and he began to feel sorry for the child. His hands were raw from servant’s work in the fields, and his clothes and skin were covered in dirt. At closer glance, Merlin saw blond hair under that grime, and his blue eyes shined at him with hope, despite the boy had made it too late.

_Almost like Arthur…_

“Well…my boy,” Merlin said, and he settled back down on his bench with a strained sigh. “I suppose I could make an exception just this once. If anyone can sympathize with working late into the night, I certainly can,” he said with a chuckle, and he remembered his days of cleaning Arthur’s armor and the horses’ stables with an odd fondness.

“Really?” The boy’s eyes lit up at Merlin’s offer. His new listener sat cross-legged in front of him, alert and attentive.

“Now what story shall I tell you…ah, what is your name, young man?” Merlin asked politely.

“It’s Arthur,” he said proudly, puffing up his chest. “I was named after the king.”

Merlin smiled and felt his heart fill with warmth. He clapped his hands together and set his staff a side. “That just happens to be my favorite name… slightly behind my own, of course,” he said as the boy giggled. Merlin held up his hand and proclaimed jubilantly, “Ah, I have just the story for you, young Arthur. It’s the tale of a worker just like you… and he came to Camelot for a job. Instead, he was given the responsibility of protecting the crown prince…who was a bit of a horse’s behind if you ask me.” The boy giggled again, and he stared at Merlin entranced. Merlin cleared his throat and started his story.

The boy wrapped his hands around his knees as Merlin said the first line: “Leaving his mother behind, Emrys, a young village boy, answered the letter from his mother’s friend, the court apothecary Gaius, who planned to teach him about his secret gift… Magic.”

The boy’s eyebrows shot up at the word, and Merlin felt a sense of pride. For so long he had to hide it, now his magic had become a fascinating plot motif within his stories that all the children loved.

As the young Arthur listened at his feet, the old wizard felt a curious sensation. He may be alone now that his friends were gone, but passing down these stories to children almost brought them back when he spoke of them.

The more he talked of those dear to him, transformed from his memories into tales, the more Merlin didn’t feel so alone – like they somehow were still with him.

And perhaps, as Merlin was learning, the old wizard didn’t need bend time to be with them after all.

END  



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